


A Short Engagement

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: Gobmas 2020 [10]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Labyrinth Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Come Marking, Dancing, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Implied Voyeurism, M/M, Marriage, Mutual Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Man, Pre-Canon, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: This time, Malcolm wishes himself away.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Sunshine the Bird
Series: Gobmas 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037802
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	A Short Engagement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prodigalsanyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/gifts).



> Sanyooooooo would you believe this is actually the first gobmas I wrote? ;) I wrote your bday fic and then was like... I can make a sequel to this, and immediately cranked it out XD I hope you enjoy the broyo the last piece only teased at! I love youuuuuu <3<3<3<3<3<3

He’s been waiting for the letter for weeks. He knew it was coming, knew exactly what it would say, and maybe, for anyone else, that would have made it useless to apply. Something not to bother with. 

For Malcolm, it’s different. He needs the confirmation that this part of his life is over before it can begin. He needs to make sure before he takes the step towards the rest of it, to the part he’s put on the backburner for years now. 

He walks up the stairs at a sedate pace. He puts the mail on the kitchen island and breaks off to check on Sunshine’s water. 

She’s as happy to see him as she was that day when he was eighteen. 

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him again soon,” Malcolm murmurs, a fond smile on his lips. “You miss him, don’t you? I do.”

He’s so nervous he can’t eat. He dry swallows a sleeping pill instead.

( _There’s better food at the castle, anyway_ , a little part of his mind whispers.)

The fancy letter opener up in his study slices right through the crease of the envelope. There’s very little inside. Just a single sheet of folded paper, in fact. 

_Dear Mr. Bright…_

_We regret to inform you…_

_...failed your background check…_

_...wish you luck on your future endeavors._

It’s almost a relief. And isn’t that odd? Malcolm laughs as he sets it on the desk. A weight’s been lifted off his chest. 

Law enforcement was all he ever wanted to do. Being an agent, specifically — being someone who tracked down killers and stopped them before they could do more harm. He felt he could understand them, in a way, and because of that, he couldn’t see himself in any other field. He certainly couldn’t play the rich heir his whole life. 

The problem with all of that is the fact that the entire world still thinks Martin Whitly is out in the wind. That the rest of his family knows something they’re not telling.

Which means… there’s nothing much left here for him. He’s twenty-four, and not a single thing could keep him in New York. 

Oh, his family will always be important to him, of course. He just can’t see them liking him suffering here on their account. Ainsley has a plan. She’s already in college working towards her journalism degree. His mother, for all that she’s been beaten down by life, is pushing on ahead, stubborn and strong. _They_ need to stay. 

But he has a feeling he’ll be able to see them whenever he wants where _he’s_ going. 

With a burst of giddiness, Malcolm runs down the steps to the main level of the loft. He pulls a duffle out of the back of his closet. It’s already filled, for the most part, his go-bag he’s kept ever since he got back from the first trip. He’s updated it over the years. Added books. Swapped out clothes. Even started a suitcase for his suits, and that gets pulled out, too. 

He can’t forget Sunshine, either. Carefully, he shifts her cage until it’s standing in front of his bed, in full view of the window, the moon. He gazes up at it, smiling. 

_Hey kid_ , he imagines hearing. Gil might even be watching this second. 

Malcolm’s certainly felt his eyes before, set his bed here and forwent curtains for that exact reason. He won’t need to consider that anymore. Not in a minute.

First, though… first, he pulls out his cell phone. He calls the house, knowing his mother is at some charity function tonight. “Hi, Luisa,” he says warmly. “Yes, I know. Could I leave a message with you?”

He looks up at the moon again. “Tell her I’m going on a trip. I’ll check in with her once I’m settled, and.” He closes his eyes for a moment. Surely she’ll freak if he adds that he loves her. He shakes his head. “That’s it. She can expect to hear from me within a few days.”

Next, he shoots Ainsley a quick text. He knows she’s glued to her phone, that she’s likely to see it within moments, and that’s exactly why he saved her for last. 

_I’m going back._

His phone chimes almost before he can put it back in his pocket, but he ignores it, looking at the moon. “I wish I was gone,” he says, wrapping a hand around the pole of Sunshine’s cage. “I wish Sunshine and I were both where we belong. Don’t forget my bags, please.”

Malcolm lays down in bed, fully clothed, and lets the pill drag him under.

The bed underneath him feels different. Malcolm grins, eyes still closed, because it _worked_. 

“I hope I can take credit for that smile on your face,” the Goblin King murmurs. A hand cards through his hair. 

Malcolm opens his eyes to find Gil lying on the mattress across from him fully dressed with his head propped up on one hand, his gaze trained on Malcolm. Both of them are over the covers. “What if I said otherwise?”

“I’d be sad.” The look Gil gives him is guarded but happy.

Malcolm lays a hand on the bed between them. “Then don’t be.”

Gil puts one of his over it. “Why have you come, kid? I wasn’t expecting you for a while yet.”

“Haven’t you been watching me?” That was the assumption he’d lived the past several years under. He _wanted_ Gil to. There were times he specifically hoped the King was looking down at him, enjoying the show. Suddenly, he feels silly. Insecure. “You’d know if you had.” He starts to pull his hand back.

Gil doesn’t let him. “I tried to give you your space,” he says softly. “I checked in now and then, yes, but I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Coming here was always the plan,” Malcolm insists. He shifts closer on the bed as if to emphasize his point. “Well, since you let me go the first time. Gil, I’m more than ready to marry you, if the offer’s still on the table.”

The grin that overtakes Gil’s face is more than worth the momentary doubt. His happiness is contagious, making Malcolm feel lighter than he has in a long time. He brings Malcolm’s hand up to his lips and kisses it, just like old times. “How does tonight sound, kid?”

His first instinct is to freak out, but… he’s wanted this for so long. Why would he want to put it off? “Sounds perfect.”

The rest of the day is an absolute blur. 

Gil departs moments after Malcolm agrees to his crazy plan, because, as he insists, tradition means they can’t see each other until the main event. 

Tradition apparently also means that Malcolm gets swamped with goblins. The first is a goblin he hasn’t met before, and she grumbles as she sticks him with pins, insisting on making an outfit from scratch for his wedding despite the time crunch. The second is one of the goblins he remembers from before, one of the ones who grew the hedges in the labyrinth. She brings a notepad with her, and one of her rats scurries in after her with the pencil she forgot. Her job, she explains, is to embroider his outfit. It doesn’t have to be grand. It just has to be beautiful.

Malcolm lets her have free range with it. 

Next, barging in as she’s sketching and the first goblin is still hemming and hawing over his silhouette, is the mustachioed goblin who manned the food tables before. She interrogates him on his favorites, especially when it comes to cake, and leaves soon in just as much of a hurry as she arrived in, one hand righting her chef hat. 

Shortly after, the other goblin in charge of the hedges pops her head of be-crystaled curly hair in and briefly discusses arrangements for the wedding.

Malcolm feels like his head is going to _explode_. Mostly, he nods and agrees with everything all of them are flinging at him. 

And then they all leave. 

He takes a deep breath. He lays down on the bed and stares at the ceiling cursing Gil in his head, though every single word of it is fond. 

There’s another knock on the door. The beastmaster rides in, Sunshine perched on her head, and Malcolm can’t even be mad at the interruption of his calm. “She’s been fed,” the goblin assures him. “You take good care of her.” She squints at him before leaving. “You’re okay.”

He’s not quite sure what to say to that. Then again, he’s not sure of much in this world. Running a finger down the back of Sunshine’s head, he smiles. “I like it here, you know. You look happy to be back.”

The next time there’s a knock at his door, there are three goblins behind it. The tailor comes in with a package wrapped in brown paper. Behind her is the goblin in charge of the arrangements, one in her hand, presumably for him to carry, and after her is another goblin he vaguely recognizes.

It’s the hair that clues him in. It’s shorter, not nearly as long as before, which means it no longer covers her chest, but it’s close enough to spark his memory. She was the one telling jokes in Gil’s magic world. She stares at him head cocked.

“Hello,” he says as he obediently allows the tailor to get him into a bright white pair of tight trousers, a white blouse similar to the one Gil wore the first time he visited, and a white vest to round it out. Every piece has delicate white embroidery all over it in flowers and swirls that almost blend in from a distance. It’s gorgeous. (He makes a note to thank the goblin with the rats.) The tailor also bids him to slip on a pair of knee-high boots in the same color. Somehow, they fit perfectly despite her not measuring his feet at all. 

The goblin who’s staring at him nods. “You’ll do.”

“I’ll...do?” 

“Our king needs a hot babe,” she says bluntly. She nods to herself. “Oh, yes, he does.”

He blinks.

The other two goblins giggle.

“You look smart, too,” she continues. “A babe with power. I like it.”

The curly-haired goblin puts the bouquet in his limp hands with a silly smile. 

Malcolm shakes his head and laughs. “I’ve never thought of myself as a babe.”

“Take my word for it,” the third goblin says, winking. “Now, let’s go get you married.”

Together, the four of them walk out to the entry hall, which is decorated elaborately with flowers, the back devoted to tables full of food both savory and sweet, the frazzled chef goblin fiddling with plates behind it. There are no seats, though. Just an open floor filled with waiting goblins, an empty line down the middle for him to walk through. At the end is Gil, standing there in rich, dark blues, a wide grin on his face, and —

At the front of the aisle stand his mother and sister. His mother, in particular, looks bewildered.

Malcolm hugs them both tightly, tears coming to his eyes, because he never thought, never considered. He mouths a thank you to Gil over their shoulders. 

“Your sister tried to explain,” their mother says as she links their arms. She looks at him for a long moment, the three of them standing there in front of a goblin crowd. “You look happy, dear.”

He links his free arm with Ainsley’s. She’s looking more conflicted, but he thinks it helps that the goblin she made friends with — Jin, he thinks — is waving shyly from his place up closer to the altar. “I am.” And he truly is. 

An organ sounds, the wedding march starting up with another familiar goblin sitting in front of it, a cape draped across a shoulders and a small cat both white and striped snoozing on the bench next to her. 

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm takes a step forward with his family. And then another. 

They stop right in front of Gil. 

“You’ll keep him happy,” Ainsley says sharply, “or else.”

Gil nods. “I promise to.”

Ainsley must believe him, because she and their mother break off to join the crowd where Jin has saved them spots. 

Malcolm reaches out and grasps both of Gil’s hands like a lifeline. 

A goblin clears their throat, nearly startling him, and that itself is enough for Malcolm to recognize her as the sneaky one from his first visit. She smiles sweetly.

“I didn’t know you had a — an official? You never mentioned a religion before,” he murmurs.

Beside him, Gil chuckles. “As King, I usually officiate.”

“Don’t worry,” the goblin says. “I have a certificate.”

“She’s a goblin of many hats,” Gil adds. 

Malcolm nods and angles to face her, still holding Gil’s hands. “I’m ready.”

“Do you promise to love our King and kingdom?”

“I do.” The thought of being responsible for so many people is daunting, but, in his heart, he knows Gil won’t just drop him in the deep end. And loving Gil? Is the least of his worries. 

She turns to Gil. “Do you promise to love our future King?”

“I do.” He gently squeezes Malcolm’s hands, and the look in his eyes is so adoring Malcolm nearly tears up. 

“Then seal the deal with a kiss,” the goblin says.

Gil cups Malcolm’s jaw and leans down for the first kiss of many. 

The entire room erupts in cheers and hoots and the stomping of feet as goblins grab each other’s arms and spin in circles, start dancing right there in the middle of the crowd. Even Ainsley and their mother get pulled into it, and if Malcolm wasn’t so preoccupied, he’d laugh at his mother’s expression, a goblin tugging her into a waltz with a wink. 

He’s just too blissed out to notice anything but the softness of Gil’s beard, the warmth of his hand and his body. 

Eventually, however, they, too, are dragged into the celebration. The goblins part for them to take their first dance. Gil settles a hand on Malcolm’s waist, another still clasped in one of his, and they move as one across the stone floor, just as they had several years ago. But this time, Malcolm feels like his face will split from the grin he can’t contain. 

“I didn’t let myself dream you would come back,” Gil says softly. “It makes me so damn happy to see you smile, kid.”

“I wanted to come back sooner, but I needed to finish that part of my life first.” Malcolm lets himself be dipped, trusting his husband to support him, hoping he understands. 

Gil yanks him close for another kiss, still moving. “I know, and I’m glad you did.”

Before their dance is over — because, really, the goblins all know their king loves to dance and likely expect he would go on forever if given the chance — the chef is waddling into the entry hall with a cake as tall as Malcolm. It looks remarkably like the castle. She rests it on a short table and straightens her mustache.

And Malcolm gapes, because, as he and Gil stand before it, it looms over him from the added height. He reaches up and sinks a knife into the tallest tower, the one he’s woken up in twice now. 

Gil swipes a finger across the icing and holds it out.

Malcolm wraps his lips around it, licking it clean before doing the same in return. 

The goblins practically shoo them out at that spectacle, and the last thing they hear before they’re walking back to said tower, an almost forgotten plate of cake in hand, is the sound of the remaining goblins chanting for the cake to be cut and distributed. 

The room is dark when they stumble into it.

With a snap of his fingers, Gil lights every single candle. He sets the cake down on one of the dressers and pulls Malcolm close once again. 

“I’ve thought about this,” Malcolm gasps between kisses. “About you.”

Gil smirks against his lips. “Oh?” He presses a leg between Malcolm’s, right up against his growing arousal. 

“I thought you were watching.” He sounds just as breathless as he feels.

“And what kinds of things did you do for me?”

Malcolm pushes at him lightly until he can squirm away and sit on the edge of the bed to tug at his boots. “Touched myself.” Tossing a boot across the room, he grins at Gil. “Used toys. Moaned for my king.” 

His husband swallows. “I missed too much of that.”

“Well, I’m here now.” Malcolm removes the second boot and goes for the lacing of his pants, but Gil stops him, gently pushing his hands aside to do it himself. Malcolm shudders, lifting his hips to help him peel them off.

Although the blouse goes next, Gil merely unbuttons it, skimming his hands across pale skin. He dips his head down and curls the tip of his tongue around a stiffening nipple. 

Malcolm clutches at his head. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

Gil sucks. Pulls away and chuckles, his breath skating across the wet nub. “You make a good point.” Standing up, he deftly unbuttons his vest and shirt, pushing them off his shoulders. He makes a striking figure in the candlelight, chest bare, his pants and boots still intact. 

Not that Malcolm lets that slide as he climbs back onto the bed. He reaches between them and tugs at the lacing until he can slip a hand in and grasp his husband’s cock. 

Gil nips at his lips with a groan. He wraps a hand around Malcolm in return. His grip is broader, his fingers thicker and his palm rougher. He latches onto a nipple as he begins to stroke. 

“Fuck,” Malcolm breathes, head dropping back. He feels clumsy, like he’s suddenly forgotten how to hold a cock, but evidently Gil doesn’t agree, because he can feel every moan against his chest as he awkwardly twists his hand and thumbs at the slit. 

Gil lifts his head and swallows the next curse. He takes his hand away, too, but, after snapping his fingers, it’s back. And _slick_. 

Malcolm’s hips buck into the wet grip. “God, Gil,” he says as soon as his mouth is free again. His body is trembling, teetering on the edge. 

“I know, kid.” Latching onto his neck, his husband scrapes his teeth against sensitive skin, and that’s it. 

Malcolm chokes on a whine as he spills between them. He loses his grip on Gil, but that’s okay. 

Gil just props himself up over him and fists himself until he’s striping Malcolm’s chest with his spend. Coating him in white. Marking him up. 

(They don’t clean up before they eat the rest of the cake. 

It’s just another excuse to try out the pool-sized tub Gil has apparently been hiding in his personal bathroom the entire time.)


End file.
